


Phantom Pain

by shinygreenwords, SlytherinMalfoySnape (shinygreenwords)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/shinygreenwords, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinygreenwords/pseuds/SlytherinMalfoySnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though time has passed, Michael still hurts. Series about the symbolism of sacrifice in the loss of his two toes. Even though they aren't there anymore, it doesn't mean that the pain goes away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recurrence

**Phantom pain:**   
**Pain that is felt in a part of the body (usually an extremity) that either no longer exists due to amputation.**

 _They say time heals everything  
But I'm still waiting  
_   
_\- Dixie Chicks_

As Michael walked into the hotel room, Lincoln noticed that his brother was limping slightly. His lips were set in that grim line that told Lincoln that his stubborn brother was in pain but was trying to hide it.

Lincoln waited until Sara had left the room to grab the laptop until broaching the question. "Are you okay?" Lincoln could have slapped himself for asking such a stupid sounding question but he wasn't sure what to say. "Did they get you?" At least he didn't have to say who _they_ were.

"I'm fine," he said too quickly and defensively for Lincoln's liking. Lincoln knew his baby brother. The more he denied it, the more likely it was that he was hiding something.

Michael glanced over at his worried brother and tried to make it to the bed as casually as possible and sat down. His left foot was throbbing slightly after the running and driving stint. It'd been aching on and off the last few weeks. Sharp pains when he was caught unaware but not so significant for him to bring it up. _Its not like it's ever really lasted,_ Michael justified to himself.

"Are you sure?" Lincoln continued, ignoring the familiar flash of irritation crossing Michael's face. "Let me see."

"Probably just jarred it or something." He hesitated over whether to take his shoe off. He didn't want anyone to see his mutilated foot. As much as he loved Lincoln, his brother was the last person in the world that he wanted to show his foot to, knowing that Lincoln would get that haunted look in his eyes. That look which begged the words, _I never asked you to give up so much for me._ It wasn't a question in Michael's mind and now wasn't a good time to argue over it. They'd just been chased and he wanted to catch his breath.

Lincoln grunted in response. He didn't think it was a good idea to push Michael but went to grab a glass of water. Under the guise of drinking, he watched his brother.

Michael turned his face away from Lincoln and closed his eyes against the pain. He leaned over to undo the laces of his shoes and gingerly pulled it off. He bit his lip as his left foot just…hurt. Hurt like his toes had been cut off. He would have laughed if it wasn't the fact that they weren't there anymore but he could swear that they were hurting. When Michael removed the right boot as well, he sat on the edge of the bed in his socks and gazed at his feet. Another wave of pain and Michael put his hands over his face. He lay back on the bed like he did in the infirmary and balled his fists over his eyes. _I am not going to cry. I am NOT going to cry about this. Not in front of Lincoln and Sara._ He took a deep breath, trying to control the pain and the memories it bought.

Lincoln wanted to say something but he didn't know what was wrong. He didn't know what to do. He felt that he should give Michael his privacy since his brother was trying so hard to hide his pain from him. From a glance, he didn't see any life-threatening injuries or any sign of blood. Lincoln just hoped that Sara would be back soon so she could play Doctor with his brother because he had no idea how to make it better. When Michael was younger, he always hid his pain from Lincoln. It was just the way he was. His martyr personality be damned.

Michael could feel his brother looking. It was too quiet. Not wanting to see the look of pity from his brother, he rolled over on his side. Hunched slightly, trying to blink the feeling of tears away. It hurt. Along with everything in his head and he try as he might, he couldn't filter it out. He had betrayed Pope. He was unforgiven. Not that he'd expected any more but he felt so guilty. Perhaps this pain was his punishment. His atonement.

Sara burst in with the laptop. "I've got it!" Noticing the eerie quiet she was about to question where Michael was when she saw his form hunched over on the bed. Her heart lurched at the thought of Michael wounded. Again. _Why is it that he always has to suffer? Don't jump to conclusions. Maybe he's just sleeping…_ "Is he alright?" She asked Lincoln hesitantly.

Lincoln didn't want to comment as he wasn't sure if Michael was aware. He really didn't need another argument. He was still shockedangryhurtscared that his baby brother would turn himself in for him in a heartbeat. He settled for a safer answer. "Um…maybe you should go ask him yourself." He added in a low voice, "I think it's his left foot."

Sara's eyes widened. "I see."

"I'll get the computer set up," Lincoln offered, trying to give them some space. He met Sara's gaze and gave her a grateful look before taking the laptop off her.

Sara could see that Michael was trembling. "Michael." No response. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Michael. What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, not looking at her. "Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me Michael."

A long pause. She sighed. "Michael."

"Its just my toes...it doesn't matter." His voice was choked up, making him sound funny.

"It does matter. Let me see."

He shook under her gentle hand, laughing bitterly. "You can't."

"Can't?" Sara's brow furrowed in confusion. "As in you can't show me? Or you won't show me?"

"Can't," he repeated. He slowly pulled himself in a sitting position and turned to face her. "I can't because they're not there anymore." When he hugs his knees to his chest, Sara's heart almost breaks.

"Does it hurt?"

He gave another short, mirthless laugh. "Its stupid isn't it? It's not even logically possible. My toes hurt. They feel like they've been cut off but that's not possible. They're not even there anymore. Dammit. They're not even there. It doesn't make sense."

Sara puts her hand on his knee to comfort him. "Hmmm…its not uncommon to have phantom pain in the loss of limbs. So I guess this would also apply to your toes. Your brain still thinks that they are there so that's why it hurts."

Michael felt despair. _Great. Just something else to add to my list of crazies. Its all in my mind._

"Its normal Michael. It happens to many war veterans." _So its like we're fighting a war…_ "When does this start?"

"I don't know. Maybe ever since its healed or perhaps its never really gotten healed?" Michael wondered. "Its on and off. Sometimes it just aches. Other times its not so bad. Happens sometimes when I'm asleep or just waking I guess. Or when I'm really tired. It's not that bad. Really." He squirmed under the scrutiny.

Sara sighed. "You should have told me Michael. I might have been able to give you something for the pain. It sounds like your brain is still adjusting and its attacking you when you're vulnerable or semi-conscious."

"You mean my subconscious brain thinks that it's still wounded?"

"Well it could also be that the tissue may still be physically healing and your body needs time to adapt to the trauma. I'd like to take a look at it anyway to make sure its really phantom pain and not something else."

He gave her an uneasy look, glancing over at Lincoln. "I'm fine. Really. If it's all in my head, it'll be fine. It's not even hurting that much now." He gave her a pleading glance and she found it hard to be firm.

"Michael. Please. It'll put my mind at rest to know that its not some kind of infection or muscle strain." Sara said quietly, "He doesn't have to see if that's what's bothering you."

Michael nodded his assent and faced his back to Lincoln. While Sara went through her purse, he rolled his left sock off. Her gloved hands held Michael's injured foot gently. She put pressure on different points around the amputated area and asked if it hurt. Michael shook his head several times in answer. Then Sara gently massaged the sole of his foot in silence. She's so beautiful. He watched her working and blushed as she looked at him.

"How is it now?"

"The pain is gone. Thank you."

"I didn't even do anything," she said playfully.

He smiled and quickly put his sock back on.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it. It nothing to be ashamed of."

He lowered his eyes, taking them away from her pretty face. He couldn't tell her how ugly he felt. How mutilated he was. Like his foot. That he felt tainted all over like he indelible ink all over his arms, chest and back. "Its just…ugly. I don't want anyone to see it."

Sara took her gloves off and put her hands on his face, caressing it. "It's still a part of you." She slid a hand from his face to his chest. You're beautiful. I want you. I love you. Every part of you is beautiful to me. I'm here for you and I want to take your pain away. The words that she couldn't yet say. "Still a part of you." I love you. She smiled at him, trying to get him to understand.

He knew what she was saying but he was not comfortable with himself. Not yet. Perhaps one day he would be able to feel like he was worth something to himself. Perhaps one day he would be able to be comfortable with his body. His scars. But for now he needed time. For now he had to complete his mission to save Lincoln. He kissed the palm of Sara's hand. _Wait for me._

Michael smiled to himself and hoped whatever was in the USB would exonerate Lincoln. That one day he could go to the beach and relax with Sara, Lincoln and LJ and shuck off his shirt. Wear thongs…. Maybe in Panama?


	2. Two Halves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Michael isn't quite whole and its up to Sara to show him how he completes her. A fic about what happened before their first time. Warning: a bit of language. Seuxal references but no actual sex.
> 
> Timeline: Extending the Panama Universes. Michael wasn't sent to Sona. He and Lincoln managed to evade the authorities. Sara is managing by herself. They're still on the run but things have settled down a bit so Michael sneaks off to see Sara. Again.

You'd think that the first time… _the_ first time would be one of the things you remember most? Well it was certainly true for Sara but what was even more memorable was what happened before that first time. It was a first time of all sorts. It wasn't like anything she'd ever thought it would be. Nothing like her fantasies and dreams. She understands why the first thing they tell you on a job is to never fall for a con. Because love is exactly that. Falling.

Just like every other clandestine visit, it began with dinner. Then a spot of red wine. Lots of looking at each other and holding hands. Then there are frantic kisses but this time she guides him down the corridor and suddenly they're on the bed. It's all very suggestive. They've waited so long for it. She pulls him into the kiss, pulling his shirt off, pulling him down with her. Then he's pushing himself up, pushing himself away from her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Michael murmurs.

"What's wrong?" He could pick up the disappointment in her voice. The questions unsaid – what's wrong with me? What did I do wrong?

"Its…its…" he stutters. "Um…I just need a shower." He knows how lame that sounds and he apologizes profusely.

"I see."

But the mood is broken and Sara is all too understanding. It's awkward. He tries to make up for it and gives her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek before going into the bathroom. He doesn't need to get any clothes; he hasn't got a change of clothes.

Sara puts her coat back on, not noticing that she'd shed it in the hallway. It's cold without Michael's warmth. The dying embers of their passion only add to her chilled disappointment. He's run away from prison and he's running away from her too. She is confused, feeling lonely sitting on the bed listening to the sound of running water. Is he having a cold shower? Is he trying to wash away the traces of her? She felt guilty about the doubts about Michael in her mind. She was so in love with him she was afraid to lose him. His shirt is still on the bed where she took it off.

There is a thump in the shower and noises. Sara wonders whether she should go and see him but she thinks not. More thumping and a definite cry. It occurs to Sara's mind that Michael could be having very personal and private moment and her face burns at the thought. However, all thoughts of such sexual nature go out the window when she hears a strangled cry… She isn't sure and she can barely hear it but she thinks she hears him say I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorry over and over.

She knocks on the bathroom door. No response. She calls out to him. No response. A sense of fear fills her – not unlike the same feeling she'd felt when he was in the J-Cat. She yells his name.

"I'm coming in," she says quietly, trying to control the panic. She closes her hands around the doorknob and hopes that he didn't lock the door out of habit. She's asked him about that and he told her that he doesn't because jail showers don't have doors let alone locks. The door opens easily.

"Michael?" His name becomes a question. A plea. A prayer.

She sees him kneeling in the shower with his pants still on, his right hand bleeding. "Oh Michael." She's glad he's not naked. Not that he isn't beautiful, but it didn't seem right. Like it would somehow be taking advantage of the moment. He looks so vulnerable, but still beautiful. Like a fragile kind of beauty. She didn't want to intrude on his privacy but he's not responding. Sara reaches in the shower to turn the taps off, not caring if she got herself wet in the process. The water is ice cold. "We have to get you out of here. It's freezing cold Michael."

He doesn't react. He's not saying or doing anything at all.

She shakes him. It's different this time and though she's concerned, she's also that little bit angry with him. She shakes him gently and then with more force, her frustration and fear overwhelming her.

He just blinks and looks at her like he doesn't know her. She sighs ands him a towel. He just stares at it. She taps his cheek lightly.

"Michael? Wake up."

He moves slowly. She isn't sure if she should slap him. When she can finally resolve herself to do it so she can snap him out of his trance, he grabs her hand just before contact.

"Talk to me dammit. You'll catch pneumonia if you stay there." Despite her harsh words, she's gentle in wrapping a towel around him. She reaches into the bathroom cabinet for some bandages. "Why do you do this to yourself Michael?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say it if you don't mean it. You're always fucking sorry." The fear slips out and she regrets it the instant she says it. She avoids looking him in the eye; afraid to see the hurt she's caused. She swabs his hand quickly with the antiseptic then starts wrapping the white gauze around his palm, looping it around his knuckles. She pulls it to tighten it with more force than needed and he hisses from the sharp pain it causes. She pretends that it doesn't bother her, but gently snips the end off the bandage and fastens it with a clip. If only healing was really this easy, she thought.

"I'm sorry, Sara." His voice is so faint that she can barely hear him. It has none of the smooth confidence she's used to. It's raspy and tired.

"No I'm sorry. I'm just…worried…scared." She cradles his injured hand and kisses the bandage before pulling him up to get him out of the shower, relieved that he's still in his pants. Otherwise it might have been even more awkward. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I'm sorry."

He resists her and sits down in the shower again, in the cold. Before she could protest he puts his head in his hands and pulls at his hair. The severe prison cut had grown to a reasonable mushroom kind of shape. His new bangs flopped in his eyes, hiding their blue depths. "I don't know how you can tolerate me."

"What?"

"I'm a freak. I've always been a freak. Don't you see what I am? I could practically be fucking Frankenstein." He hadn't meant to yell but his voice was echoing in the bathroom.

"You think I care about that? You think that I just want you for your body?"

"No. I know you don't but can't you see that I'm damaged goods? I don't want you to take me like this. I have eight toes Sara. I have tattoos that will never fade away. I'm dirty. I've done all these things that I'm not proud of. I've become part of the problem, you know? You shouldn't have to settle for anything less. I'm sorry-"

"Are you saying that I'm too good for you? Stop worshipping me Michael. Its sweet but I'm not perfect. I've fucked up too." Sara's voice is cynical, still angry and he flinches at her language. It's so unlike her. "I was a junkie. I've now got a criminal record and I've killed someone. Does that make me dirty too?"

"No. Of course not but you had reasons for what you did-"

"So did you Michael! Stop excluding yourself from everyone else. Where is that man I love that told me 'toes are overrated' huh? Where is the guy that saved me during a riot? Where is the guy that told me about optimism, faith and hope? You are a good man Michael. Your scars? I've already seen them. They don't scare me."

"Why?" What Michael doesn't say is that he's scared of himself.

She slides down next to him, not even noticing the cold. She puts her hand on his face and tells him that she loves him.

He doesn't know how to respond to it. Such a beautiful gift from his angel. He didn't feel like he deserved it. "Sara, I-"

"Its my choice to make isn't it? I love you. I love every part of you."

"I can't promise you anything. I have nothing to give you except myself. I'm not even…whole." A flush blossoms over his face and he turns away slightly. He unconsciously shifts his mangled foot away from her.

Sara smiles. "Neither am I without you." She leans her forehead against his, touching his body. Wanting to tell him not to be ashamed of his beauty. He is enough. He is everything she's ever wanted, everything she needs.

A rush of hope fills his heart. Sara knows that she is breaking through his walls. Giving him hope like he gave his brother hope. "Have a little faith," she whispers into his ear.

He embraces her with trembling arms. Then they are kissing each other again. Slowly then desperately. Like two people clinging to their last hope. Two people saving each other.

The lovers are on the bed again. She peels his wet pants off, throwing them in the direction of the bathroom. She's warming him up with her hands, drying him. She sees his uncertainty, fear and shame written on him when she's touching his foot. "Did you know that it was the first time I'd ever dealt with severed toes in the infirmary? Severed hands, fingers, ears, even penises, but not toes. I think it's a masterpiece."

He cracks a hesitant smile but its there. Michael is glad because he sees her return it. She's left the towel on the floor and snuggled up next to him. He is almost in disbelief that he is where he is, with an amazing woman by his side. Someone who loves him despite all the uncertainties he faces. He wants to make it worth her while.

"I don't know about that, I might have to consult a specialist," he says huskily, wanting to savor the moment. "I do believe I have an appointment to make with a very attractive Doctor…"

 _Now I'm broken and I'm faded_

 _I'm half the man I thought I would be_

 _But you can have_

 _What's left of me_

 _\- Nick Lachey_


End file.
